Along with my growing number of gray hairs has come the understanding that nothing inside of us is ever hardwired.
This truth is being worked out in my body, and under my roof. Caleb’s bedtime arms around my neck, pulling me close with confidence and Eden’s formerly-malnourished legs, shooting out wildly from underneath what seems like yesterday’s pant-legs that were dragging on the ground, speak the same thing.
No damage is permanent.
No wound is forever.
I need this now, as I write this post. As we wait for circumstances in our adoption to shift, and enable us to make our journey to Hope (and whomever else God is preparing to for our family), I need to catch a glimpse of the forever-redeeming God.
Because my ability to receive life change that is God-change is threatened every day. The enemy’s greatest weapon is a thin sheath which covers our eyes and our understanding, begging us to assent to a glass ceiling over our heart’s growth. Maintenance it whispers, is what life is about.
God’s Word, which traveled with me from treadmill to bathroom vanity to front stoop where it competed with children’s spring squeals, says otherwise. It’s radical against my flesh constitution.
You see, I’m in a battle. I have a wound that’s created ripples in my heart from many angles. And God is after my healing. Full heart, body and soul healing. Whole person healing.
This season’s future win is in the area of trust. When your expectations fall short, it’s awfully tempting to close up shop and build a resolve to never again expect — of God or another. And ultimately, to never again trust.
“Of course, it’s a rite of passage,” she’d said, as I hunched over her 6 pound testimony. I’d casually asked her if, after such a painful delivery, she could envision having another and her response was like an arrow to the darkest place in me.
She was right. It is a rite of passage. Into motherhood, womanhood, a femininity my body had only viewed from a distance.
I shuddered that someone could speak out loud what I only could, on rare days, allow my mind to dance around. My dear sweet friend was unknowing, and her words which crippled were actually an instrument of His to crack open what He one day had plans to heal. I was already man-down and God allowed a full-break so the healing would be complete.
I can’t believe I can say that now.
I was a prime target to be the one who lived constantly, mostly, only out of a deep lack of trust. It was an alluring prospect to create a life of avoidance of all things which would require great trust. A safe house for my life. My question was simple: How could I trust a Man who seemingly turned a deaf-ear to my expectations? And was my expectation too grand? I wanted a rite of passage, that rite of passage. And like a wide-eyed child I came asking, hands outstretched and heart full of expectation.
God said not yet; not now.
But between then and this night, God has been making a case. A case for trust, fierce trust. And really a case for falling into a Man who is worthy of all my trust.
I’ve been quickly reminded that adoption is no cake walk. And the path from cutting the first check to wrapping that child up in all that is Hagerty is windy and full of blind-curves. So I lay, face-to-the-floor, in the room off our bedroom we affectionately call my “prayer room.” I shed the same old tears on different carpet and say His word back to Him. And ask Him to move on behalf of the orphan … to move on behalf of this mother’s heart, severed — temporarily — from her heirs.
And he flips the pages of my story through my mind like a film strip. He brings my shadow of death to light and shows me His deep out of my darkness. And out of this reminding comes a call. Trust.
He allowed the wound so that I would walk through it and out through the other side. I believe I was made to be one who trusts. Fiercely. In the face of a thousand reasons not to trust — I was made to be one who writes it on my wall and over my life and on my children’s palms.
You see, I think that our greatest wounds are signals of His greatest intentions for our lives.
If we allow just one touch of His against our insult, the potential is immeasurable.
So, when we are faced with the extraneous stretching — the kind that wants to attach a chorus to itself that says “see, things don’t come easy for you like they do for other people” — I put His Word in my mouth and I expect. So counter to me, so full of Him. I say yes, Lord to the stretching. Early signs of a testimony, conceived.
“Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him.” Job 13:15
Incredible freedom comes with trust.
To dance in the face of uncertainty. To squeal with childlike delight over things like ladybugs that have found their home in my clothes pile. Because the already-certain outcome is burned inside of me: this Man is safe enough for me to fall into.
Trust is a Man.